


Warmth

by JesseTheComet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, M/M, he holds sherlock, john is a sad, not really - Freeform, on tumblr, sherlock death, we all know he doesnt die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 01:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesseTheComet/pseuds/JesseTheComet
Summary: John mourns.





	Warmth

John was shaking. He held the phone to his ear, the sun in his eyes as he stared up at the roof of St.Barts. “Sherlock.” He whispers into the phone. “Sherlock, what are you doing? Get down from there.” He can feel his vocal cords shake, along with the rest of his body. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, John.” The baritone voice comes from the receiver. “Please don’t do this.” John begs, stepping closer to the building. A crowd is forming. He can see Sherlock’s piercing greyish blue eyes from where he stood. “John..” Sherlock’s voice cracks. John can see tears streaming down his face, mirroring his own. “Yes?” He asks, eyes never leaving Sherlock’s. “I love you, John.” John makes a small noise of panic once the call ends and Sherlock throws the phone aside. “Sherlock..SHERLOCK, NO!”

John is running for him, as if he can catch him. Sherlock is flying. He’s almost there, when something hits him and he falls to the ground. He’s nearly unconcious. He doesn’t miss the gasps and the sickening sound of the body hitting the ground. His best friend. He gets up, tripping over his own two feet. “MOVE! Move, I’m a doctor. I-I’m his friend, please move.” He gets through the wave of people. He feels bile rise up in his throat at the sight. There’s so much blood. He falls to the ground, cradling the soft halo of curls in his hand. Sherlock’s face is covered in blood. He’s still warm.

There are sirens in the background. John hauls Sherlock’s body into his lap, resting his head on his thigh. “D-Does anyone have a tissue? Anything. I-I need to clean his face.” He’s handed a handkerchief by an old woman. He sniffles, trying not to break down. He just needed to be with him. John wipes Sherlock’s face clean of any blood, and gravel. A part of John had been hoping it was all just a joke, that it was a dummy. But no. There were those damn cheekbones. He can feel himself break, sobbing over his body. “Sherlock, Sherlock..” He cries pitifully, rocking back and forth.

He stays there for a long time, until he can feel himself being pulled away. “NO! STOP! He needs me!” He sobs, thrashing against the hold. “John..” It’s Lestrade. “Greg..” He whimpers, hand entangled in Sherlock’s hair. “He’s gone.” He lets himself be pulled away. He falls into Greg’s arms, and they cry together. After a while, the shock blanket is put around him. It hurts. The memories hurt. That night had been one of their first “dates”. A small chinese place, food being delivered to their flat. It was after the first case.

John squeezes his eyes shut, tears escaping. He reaches for his mobile. His heart ached as he saw the text. “Call Ended: Sherlock” Call ended, indeed. He rings Mrs.Hudson. “Hello?” He nearly burst into tears again upon hearing her voice. “Hello, Mrs.Hudson. It’s John.” “Oh, Hello, John! Are you and Sherlock going to be home soon? I made some biscuits.” His breath hitches. “I’m afraid I’ll be coming home alone tonight, Mrs. Hudson.” He hangs up upon hearing her questioning. He didn’t have the heart to tell her. The police would.

He can barely find it in himself to walk back to Baker Street. He couldn’t handle the skull, or the papers, or the smell of Sherlock, still on their sheets.

He would stay in a hotel for the night. And mourn.


End file.
